Abased by my grief,
The troubled mind I bear,
Drags me down the abyss of
Enlight the reek in which you dwell.
You re the weak your soul has fell.
-Hear the prayer of a lost soul.
Even though the greatest of my wishes
Is being stoic, God has made me
One of many stooges.
Trusting only thou
Who is alike myself.
I merge with the darkness
That embraces me for who I am.
Emaciated by their faulter moves,
They hide under the cloak of blasphemy.
Desperately yearning for love,
Finding only misery Avount
Now I loath the presence of God,
Whom I had such trust in.
Only to be abandoned,
My hardest of times.
Pierce the mind see what is not.
Try to sense the spirit rot.